


A Wolf Named Vengeance

by CrackingLamb, Iron_Angel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Additional Characters to be added, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon Has Been EVISCERATED, Corporate Espionage, Eventual Smut, F/M, No Inquisition, Only Thing the Same Are the Names, Past Relationship(s), Rekindled Relationship, Swearing, The Dread Wolf's Rebellion, The Evanuris are Both Corporation and Characters, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, no veil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Angel/pseuds/Iron_Angel
Summary: A decade ago the Dread Wolf of Mythal escaped from Evanuris Inc. with all its secrets in his pocket.  But now she is dead, and her protection ended with her life.  He's being hunted.Arlathani Sentinel Protectorate has dispatched someone to keep him safe, someone from his past.  But nobody said anything about them being safe from each other.  Or how much bigger this mess was going to get.NSFW chapters will be marked.*On hiatus as of 1/27/21*
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan
Comments: 51
Kudos: 36





	1. In Which We Meet Our Principle Players

**Author's Note:**

> 11/18/20
> 
> Hi! *waves* Welcome to our collaboration. (Lamb says it was time Angel got some billing for all the work she does.) Please check any expectation for canon here. This is more Bourne Identity meets Indiana Jones than anything resembling Inquisition.
> 
> Lamb is your plot relevant porn writer and storyboard leader, and Angel is your production assistant and queen of the action scene.  
> (^+^)  
> By our powers combined...  
> We bring you an action flick...I mean fic...that passes the Bechdel-Wallace Test.
> 
> Enjoy!

Eshali'nan Arla'athdhea of Clan Lavellan had always suspected that eventually the past would come back to haunt her. And so it had. In some ways, it felt inevitable.

She slipped into the back of the lecture hall in time to see her targeted asset swing around from the whiteboard to look up at the small disturbance her entrance caused. For a moment his eyes flared wide and his speaking faltered, then he picked up again as if nothing had happened. He carried on with his lecture – on art, no less – and she stayed in the dark corner of the hall, her careful gaze sweeping the room for anything out of place. Or more precisely, for how difficult it would be to defend.

It was an open semi circle, with tiered seating leading down to a central platform where he was speaking. The room was dark with no windows, the whiteboard was connected via a wifi signal to his laptop. There were the two doors at the top, one of which she'd used to enter, and two more down at the bottom. That was three too many, in her estimation, although she understood the college had to conform to safety regulations. She had no argument with that, of course not. But it would make her job harder.

She wasn't paying attention to his words, so she missed him wrapping up and dismissing the students until their collective clamor broke through her perusal. Some of them filed out past her, giving her curious glances. Her dark, intricate vallaslin probably had something to do with that. It was a rarity in Orlais. Not to mention her pointed ears, although that was more common. Or maybe it was the shoulder holster that was in no way hidden by her severe uniform of white shirt and black slacks. She stood by as the hall emptied and noted that he was still standing at the lectern, closing down his laptop and glancing at his phone and waiting for her to make the first move.

“Solas, you're teaching _art_ in this backwater?” she asked when she knew she was within earshot.

“Art and Iconography of the Early Arlathan Period,” he clarified. “It is a fascinating subject for humans who will never set foot across the border. And I would hardly call Val Royeaux a 'backwater'.”

She snorted and sank into one of the chairs in the front row. She looked him over, finding the things she remembered...and the things she didn't. Tall, light eyes more silver than blue, much like her own. He was leaner than was good for him. He'd shaved his head and his clothes were rather more conservative than she was used to seeing on him. He looked...humble. It didn't really suit him.

“This city is ridiculous,” she said. “There's so little culture here unless you count racism.”

“That is hardly true. The Empress has strictly attended to any lingering...”

She waved him off. “I know. That was the point of you coming here. It's easier to blend in now than it used to be. But seriously. The College of Magi? Isn't that a little obvious? I figured if anything you'd be teaching at U of VR.”

“ _That_ would have been too obvious. It is too prestigious for a mere elf. It would have drawn attention.” He gave her a sardonic glance with those words, then finally finished packing away his things and he crossed his arms on the lectern to look down at her. His expression turned a little apprehensive. From the angle of the single set of lights he'd turned on, his eyes were hooded and dark. “Why you?”

She shrugged. “I was available. And, ya know, old times' sake. I'm already intimately acquainted with your circumstances.”

He chuckled dryly. “How is everything in the Arlathani Sentinel Protectorate?”

“Hectic as always. You threw quite the wrench in the works, Solas. The years haven't changed the repercussions that are still being felt.”

“Apologies.”

“You don't mean that.”

He took a deep breath and stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back. “No, I do not.”

“All right, let me see.” He unlocked and handed over his phone without another word. She scrolled through his text messages and found the one that had led him to calling her. [ _I see you, Dread Wolf_.] The number was visible, but she was reasonably certain it would be a dead end and not matter. “I'll get a trace on it, just in case, but don't get your hopes up.”

“I have not.”

“I should remove you to a safe location,” she said softly. “Andruil obviously has picked up your trail at long last.”

He looked away, shifted on his feet. When he looked back at her, his face was pained. “I am unused to running now, Eshali'nan.”

“I know.”

“And if I refuse to go?”

“I could take you into protective custody, or we can work out a compromise where you're never out of my sight.”

His gaze turned sharp. “That is unwise.”

“Don't I know it. But those are your options.” She watched him weigh them. Evanuris Inc. was a conglomerate no one wanted to touch. They held the majority shares in a dozen different industries, in nearly _all_ of Arlathani commerce. They were inescapable and had been for generations. Everyone knew this.

And he'd sworn to bring it all down.

Whistle-blowers almost always ended up dead. But he was determined. Over the years he'd worked his way steadily through the data he'd mined, making it freely accessible online, releasing information on how their practices broke several international humanitarian laws, their financial records, their anti-trust violations. Ghilan'nain's 'scientific research' alone should have been enough for there to be an inquiry. But it had been hushed, and Ghilan'nain herself put on public administrative leave for a year. Not that Esha expected that had actually been the case. She'd seen what had come out of the brilliant, but insane, scientist's lab with her own eyes.

Esha only knew the data was stolen by him because she'd been with him shortly after he'd gotten it. She'd been the one to help him escape from Arlathan on the orders of her superior, the only other person who could put a face to the moniker of the 'Dread Wolf of Mythal'. They all knew what a risk it had been. And now, a decade later, she was here halfway across the world from home, from resources, and stuck once more watching his ass so it didn't get blown away. At least it was an ass worth watching. She didn't expect that part to have changed just because he was now a teacher in a small, private college.

Mythal was dead. She'd been murdered two weeks ago. There was no one to hold back the other Evanuris without the CEO's calming influence. This wasn't a situation anyone could ignore now. Solas was in serious danger.

She sighed and stood up. “You need to decide.”

“I can't leave in the middle of the semester.”

“You're still damned stubborn I see,” she said with exasperation. “You'd rather put your students' lives at risk too? Andruil may not give you a choice.”

“No one knows I'm here but you and...”

“ASP isn't as secure as it could be,” she snapped. “There have been subcontracts from an agency with ties to the Evanuris.”

“Abelas would never tolerate such a thing.”

“And he's already turning the whole department upside down about it, on top of trying to solve Mythal's murder. In the meantime, I'm here. Let me do my job, Solas. I'm off the books and this is a personal favor.” She watched him work that through. Her presence was sanctioned by Abelas, but it wasn't official.

“Give me time to manufacture a reason for leaving,” he said with resignation. “If I disappear overnight, the entire college becomes a target for the Evanuris. It would be too noticeable.”

“You've actually gone so far as to make connections here? Why would you do that?”

“It's been ten years, Esha.” His expression was implacable. “It was impossible to remain a stranger to my own coworkers for that long.”

“Fine. I can give you to the end of the semester. And then we get out of here.”

“Thank you.”

“Does this mean you've chosen the option of never being out of my sight?”

He sighed. “I suppose it does.”

“How difficult is that going to be for you?”

“My colleagues will wonder who you are and where you came from. Posturing will be necessary.”

She made a face at his archaic phrasing, but agreed. “Anyone more...personal I'll need to deal with?”

Again, his gaze turned stony. “No.”

“Fine. Former colleague, Eshali'nan Arla'athdhea, expert in Elvhen antiquities, at your service. I'm here on sabbatical, to visit my old friend Solas Fen, _art teacher_.” She gave him a mocking half bow. He grimaced at her description of his job, but nodded. She stretched out the kinks in her back. “Where to?”

“My office. I am finished for the day.” He paused before leaving the lecture hall. “You need to stow your weapon. No one will believe you are a visiting antiquities expert while carrying that.”

She scoffed at him. “Have you forgotten exactly how cutthroat dealing in antiquities is?”

“Esha...”

“Fine.” She shrugged off the shoulder holster and withdrew the clip from the pistol. Solas tucked it all discreetly into his messenger bag with a competent air. She was glad to see he hadn't forgotten how to handle such a weapon. She relaxed a fraction. He'd never been one to rely solely on magic, she knew, but away from Arlathan it was even more essential. They frowned on most magic in the human world, for all that they were surrounded by it. Speaking of which...

“So who's the head of the College of Magi these days?” she asked as they exited the hall.

“Vivienne de Fer.”

“The Iron Lady herself? I'm impressed. Maybe this isn't such a backwater posting.”

He cast a wry glance over his shoulder at her. “I'm impressed you even know who she is.”

“Darling,” she drawled, a fairly good impression of the famous mage, “ _everyone_ knows Madame de Fer.”

He snorted with laughter, almost unwillingly, it seemed. “For what it's worth, it's good to see you, Esha.”

“You too.”


	2. In Which Dinner Is Served With a Side of Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/25/20

“You live over a _bar_?” Esha said as she pulled her car into an open parking spot. The bar in question was housed in a tall brick building, its facade worn with time. The first two floors appeared to be the actual bar, then higher up there were signs of the building having been broken up into apartments. She saw fire escapes and window air conditioning units. She stepped out of the car and popped open the trunk to remove her luggage. She gave Solas a questioning look. “You could live anywhere you wanted. Why here?”

“This is a quiet area. Private.”

“Yeah, but the security...”

“Has not been an issue in the five years I have lived here.”

“It is now.”

He sighed and pulled out his keys. He said nothing more as he led her up four flights of stairs to the top of the building, then unlocked a gate, followed by the door that led to his living space, quickly tapping in a code on a keypad next to the door. She looked around and saw that while he might understate his need for security, he also hadn't skimped on it. He had a single access point to this level, locked twice and armed with a security system she recognized as Tevinter make. He appeared to have the entirety of the floor to himself. It was one open loft with a half level overlooking this one. It was airy, with a wall of tall windows shaded by blackout curtains, no corners to hide in, with delicate, sparse furniture that would provide little cover for an intruder.

He took her bag and led the way up a spiral of stairs to the upper portion that was separated into two bedrooms. He placed her luggage next to a trim guest bed, pointed out the adjoining bathroom they would have to share and disappeared back down the stairs. She stood in his guest room for a moment, bemused at the difference of how he lived from what she'd once known.

He'd kept a penthouse in Arlathan City; she'd seen pictures. And a cottage on Lake Calenhad. And a vineyard in Antiva. She had seen those two in person, and seen the myriad sides to his personality in each place. Now he was here, in a comparably small loft over a bar in Val Royeaux. She was starting to wonder if he even drew a paycheck from the college if he was choosing to live so simply and off the grid, as it were. From what she knew of him, he didn't need to.

She unpacked and changed into something more comfortable – jeans and a black tee – and went down to the main level in her bare feet to see him puttering around the thoroughly state of the art kitchen.

“Some things never change,” she teased, sliding onto a barstool across from him to watch. The kitchen was narrow like a galley, but laid out so there was plenty of working space between stove and sink. Two ovens were built into the wall and a stainless steel refrigerator completed the room. And then there was the bar, already laid out with various selections that were apparently going to become dinner.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you're still so adamant about having the best of everything, even when you're hiding.”

He snorted and went back to dicing garlic and onions. It looked like he was going to make a stir fry, reminiscent of the street food they had in Rivain. That had been a unique culinary experience for two Arlathani elves, a mix of locally grown selections, Qunari spices and Dalish portability. The humorous part to Esha, half Dalish as she was, was the fact that there were few clans in Rivain. “Still buying local, I see?”

“Yes. There is a Dalish shop not too far away. It is possible to get good meat and produce there. Better than human sources, at any rate.”

Esha pretended to be shocked. “Was that faint praise for my people I just heard? Who are you and what have you done with the Dread Wolf?”

He cast a rueful glance over his shoulder. “I have learned, in my self imposed exile, to respect their independence. We may not agree on many things, but the Dalish are free of the Evanuris. That is worthy of admiration, if nothing else.”

“Next you'll tell me you have planted a tree somewhere around here.” He looked sheepish and she cackled. “You have, haven't you?”

“There is a rooftop greenhouse. And it is a lemon tree, before you become ruthlessly mirthful at my expense.”

“Ahh, I see. So long as it's practical, it serves.”

“Just so,” he retorted with an arched eyebrow. She grinned at him. He'd lost none of his starch. And she tucked her tongue in her cheek and decided not to poke at him anymore. Since a practical tree was more Dalish than anything.

She contentedly watched him cook, tossing the food lightly in a wok, the scent of oil, onions and garlic filling the air. He added Rivaini ginger and Seheron peppers as well as baby peas and chunks of carrot. He then pushed them to the side and cracked two eggs into the wok, stirring them vigorously until they were fluffy and golden before scooping already steamed rice over them to toss the whole thing together. He served up two bowls of the colorful medley, handing her one with a graceful gesture.

“Are you feeling nostalgic tonight?” he asked, a lilt in his voice she hadn't heard since long before they parted.

“A meal like this? I feel like I should.”

“Chopsticks are in the jar.” He nodded towards the container and she withdrew a pair etched beautifully with curling leaves. She remembered them from the vendor where they'd eaten several times before moving on. She'd picked them out with girlish glee, as they reminded her of her mother's aravel. She felt a pang that he kept them. He took a pair at random from the jar and settled next to her at the bar. They ate in silence, but it was comfortable. It wasn't until they were finished and he'd cleaned up the kitchen that she found what she wanted to say.

“I haven't forgotten our time there.” The meal had brought back memories, of course. He'd grown quite enamored of the food in Rivain – even though he had few good things to say about the Qunari influence in general – and it showed in the choice of meal and seasonings he'd used tonight.

He stilled at her words, one hand on the door of the fridge, the other holding the leftovers. She wondered what he would say in response to that, but the moment passed and he briskly put away the food and went about loading the tiny dishwasher she hadn't even known was on the other side of the bar.

“Have you begun the trace on the text?”

“Not yet,” she replied, masking her disappointment that he hadn't taken the bait. He was right, of course. She was here to protect him, not get caught up in a nostalgic journey through their past, the evocative meal notwithstanding. “I need to get set up.”

“You are welcome to wherever you would like.”

She took that as the cue it was, and retrieved her secure laptop and plugged it in. He offered her the wifi password on a slip of paper and wandered off to another area of the loft, settling into a chair with a book in his lap.

“Like I said, I don't expect much.”

“A location of origin would be more than we have now,” he murmured.

“Solas...you're rather calm about this.”

“I have known for a long time that my sanctuary was temporary.”

“You expected this?”

He finally looked up from his book. “It was inevitable that the knot would tighten.”

“And I'm here to what...just be another set of eyes on the horizon?”

“Something like that. It is foolish to attempt to evade the Evanuris on my own.”

“And you trust me to watch your back?” Solas didn't wholeheartedly trust anyone, but she would assume that she was one of the few who had more of it than others.

“Of course,” he said after a moment. He kept eye contact with her, trying to impart some wordless message. It was disturbed by his phone pinging with an incoming message. She lifted a hand to tell him to wait until she had him locked into her network, then waved that hand again when she was ready.

It was a text, and from a number within his contact list. [ _The gang's all here. You coming?]_

“Who's that?”

Solas sighed, as if he'd forgotten something. “Varric. It is Wicked Grace night downstairs.”

“Did you want to go?”

“I do generally make an appearance.”

“Let me grab my shoes.”

“It is not necessary. I can tell Varric I am not going to make it.”

“I don't mind. You should keep to your routine for as long as you can.” Implicit in her words was the idea that it wasn't going to last.

He nodded and tucked a bookmark between the pages before closing the cover. “Ma nuvenin.”

She went up the stairs and dug out a pair of flats. Then she shook out the tidy, braided, professional looking bun she'd had her hair in. Casual would be better. It had been years since she'd played Wicked Grace. She wondered just how seriously they took it.

She grabbed a hair tie in case it drove her crazy later and went back down the main level to see Solas at the door. For a moment, when he caught sight of her, he looked like he was going to say something. But that was utterly arrested when he saw her hair loose and shining down to her waist. She remembered then how much he'd always liked it. And what he used to do with it. She felt herself flush and hoped it didn't show.

“Ready?” she said brightly. He just nodded.


	3. In Which There Are Others Introduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/2/20

'Downstairs' proved to be the second floor of the bar, where what should have been apartments were turned into private rooms, as well as a bistro chic kitchen. They entered the largest space and found a varied group already seated around an oblong table, the mismatch of chairs adding a bit of whimsical appeal to the scene. Esha spotted a massive Qunari seated by a flamboyant Tevinter, which made her pause for a moment, then passed over a primly dressed woman with glossy hair, a tired looking blond man and a heavily bearded one, already deep in discussion together. At the 'head' of the table sat a dwarf with a charming grin and flashing earrings.

“Glad you could make it, Chuckles,” the dwarf said, drawing everyone's attention to their arrival. “Who's your friend?”

The tone of the question caught her ear first. It was warm and friendly, but also somewhat incredulous. It was obvious the dwarf knew Solas didn't often have company.

She smiled. “Esha Arla'athdhea. I'm in town for a few weeks.”

“Varric Tethras,” the dwarf said. “Writer, owner of this fine establishment and occasional landlord. Welcome to Thursday night Wicked Grace. Do you play?”

“I haven't in years.”

“Well, pull up a chair and we'll see how much you remember.”

Solas sat at the other end of the table and Esha managed to squeeze herself between the Tevinter and the glossy haired woman. The Vint looked her over, paying close attention to her vallaslin.

“Dalish?” he asked, his voice a rich drawl. Esha grinned. He grinned back at her, showing a dimple in one cheek. He extended a hand towards her. “Dorian Pavus.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Dorian is our local brain,” Varric piped up as he shuffled the cards.

“Oh?” Esha asked.

“I teach theoretical physics at ValRoy.” He saw her confusion and smiled again, smoothing his mustache over his lip as he did. “Ahh, forgive me. The University of Val Royeaux. I tend to use the same the local diminutive as the students.” He gestured to her other side. “And this is our most illustrious player, Ambassador Montilyet from Antiva.”

“Please,” the Ambassador said, “call me Josephine.”

“A pleasure.”

Varric dealt and for a while there was only the sound of bets being made and cards being exchanged. Esha noticed that Solas folded early. He now sat back and watched the table, arms crossed casually. But there was a sharp glint in his eye that she recognized. He was comfortable with these people, but wary. His gaze seemed to cross that of the Qunari most often and Esha pretended to shift her shoulders around as an excuse to look at him. He was enormous, easily 7 feet tall. With wide set horns and an eyepatch. The scarring around the socket said plainly it wasn't for show. And he hadn't missed her surreptitious look either, even though she was on his blind side.

Ben-Hassrath, she'd bet her paycheck on it.

“You say you're visiting?” Josephine asked. “Business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both. I'm in antiquities, but I've known Solas for years. We used to work together.”

The Qunari moved in his seat, nothing out of the ordinary as he was laying down his cards, but his eye was fixed on her now. “Arlathani, not Dalish,” he said without preamble. “You have the same accent.”

“Amatus, play nice,” Dorian said. He turned back to Esha and gestured over his shoulder at the hulking figure. “Don't let the Iron Bull scare you. He's retired.”

“Your name is Iron Bull?” Esha directed to him.

“It is now.”

She furthered her mental file on him. Tal-Vashoth. She inclined her head and he did the same. They had each other cataloged. It was duly noted by both. “You're both right. I was born in Arlathan, but my mother's Dalish. I was raised with both cultures.”

She laid down her cards. She couldn't hope to keep up with Josephine's betting anyhow. The round went on until it was time to show their hands. There were groans around the table from those who hadn't conceded and Josephine clapped her hands as she took in her winnings. The blond man who hadn't been introduced yet groaned louder.

“Never bet against an Antivan, Commander. You should know this by now.”

“So I should,” he said. He was Fereldan by his speech. He gave her a lopsided smile when he noticed her interest. “Cullen Rutherford, ma'am.”

“You're a long way from home too,” she said conversationally.

“Ahh, yes. I was transferred to Orlais a few months ago. I work for the Department of Magical Misuse.”

Esha's eyes strayed to Solas's, who met them calmly. “A Templar,” she said, still looking at Solas. “This is quite the mixed group.”

“We recognize no nations or boundaries here but those of the betting kind,” Varric interjected.

“Cullen's good people,” Dorian said. “He hasn't seen fit to take out his frustrations with us yet.”

“To my certain knowledge, Doctor Pavus, you aren't dealing in black market lyrium,” Cullen said dryly.

“True. That _is_ a good point.”

“Antiquities you say?” the last voice at the table spoke up. It was the darker, bearded man, who'd also quietly folded in the first round. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“Not currently. I'm on sabbatical.” The man's gaze was direct and open, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he too had a hidden depth. Esha suddenly realized that Solas had surrounded himself with highly capable people who could quite likely defend themselves well by any outside attack should it happen. Part of her relaxed, part of her was worried. How deliberately had he collected these acquaintances? She focused back on the bearded man. “And you are?”

“Thom Rainier. People usually just call me Blackwall. It was my code name when I worked for the Order. I got used to it.”

“The Order?”

“Grey Wardens.”

“I see.”

And she did. The Wardens were responsible for cleaning up some of the Evanuris's messes, whether they knew it or not. They served all of Thedas as first responders in the event of a disaster. She didn't dare look at Solas now. Had he known? He must have. It was too much for coincidence.

The cards were gathered up, the deal passed, and the game went on. About an hour into it, the door opened and a tall woman came in, brushing rain from her hair and scowling. “I'm sorry I am late,” she said. “The weather turned and traffic is terrible.”

“No worries, Cass,” Varric offered and shifted his seat over so the woman could sit next to him. “We have a guest,” he went on, gesturing to her. “Solas brought a friend. Esha Arla'athdhea, was it?”

“You've a good ear, and yes.” She turned to the woman and smiled.

“Cassandra Pentaghast.” Esha took in her heavy Nevarran accent, her muscular build, the embroidered jacket she was wearing with the logo of a dojo on it and the hard expression she had yet to let off her face. Another one either in law enforcement or self defense. Given the jacket, she went with self defense.

She went back to her cards, and managed to win that round and another one before she settled back to more conservative playing. It wouldn't do to fleece them all, although given the look Varric tossed at her, he assumed she could. 'Years out of practice' didn't mean 'never played before'. He grinned at her and turned the conversation away from introductions.

“So, Solas, you think Madame de Fer is going to make any more budget cuts this year?”

“I am uncertain. Enrollment has been...heavy, this term. She would do well to expand, if my opinion matters.”

“Which it likely doesn't to her,” the dwarf said with a snide chuckle. “Can't tell that one that the sky's blue.”

“Only if it's a fashionable shade,” Dorian put in. He shook his head. “I've told you before, Solas. ValRoy would snap you up in a heartbeat if you expressed any interest.”

“Thank you, no. I prefer to have the bulk of my time be my own rather than spending it pandering to the elitist children of various nobilities.”

“Ouch, my friend.”

It seemed to be an old argument, bantered around with the ease of comfort and no hard feelings. Another round was played and she ducked out of it early, the better to watch the table and figure out the nuances of their various friendships. It was obvious that Cassandra and Cullen knew each other from a professional standpoint. That the Iron Bull and Dorian were a couple, as unlikely as that seemed with their respective nations having been at periodic war for centuries. That Thom – or Blackwall – was something of an outsider, but still welcome. And had a crush on the Antivan Ambassador. Varric appeared to be half the glue that held them together. The other half being Solas. What was he up to?

The game went on for several hours, with breaks only to run down to the bar proper for drinks and snacks. Esha had established herself as lucky more than competent while the clear winner of the night was Josephine. When the party broke up, Solas and Esha followed Varric down to the bar for a nightcap.

They had just settled at the long oak plank when an explosion rocked the street outside.

Esha made a grab for her gun, but of course, she wasn't wearing it. She swore under her breath and took off for the door anyway, trying to see what happened. There was a car on fire, splatters of glass and melting plastic littering the wet street. A crowd was gathering even as she watched. Solas stood with her, dropping barriers on them both.

“Was it yours or a rental?” he whispered in her ear.

“A rental.”

“ASP or your own name?”

“My own name.”

“Fenedhis.”

“Yeah...” Andruil knew she was here. Esha looked up at Solas, seeing the determined look in his eye. “We shouldn't wait to leave. I know you want to stay...”

He sighed, defeated. “You are right. Let me pack.”

She didn't know Val Royeaux all that well. She had no idea where they might go. It had been foolish to think something wouldn't happen this soon. And it felt backwards, following his lead while protecting him, but it was hardly the first time, and even if he didn't trust anyone, she trusted him. “All right.”


	4. In Which the Action Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/9/20

She watched as Solas threw together a bag of clothes, toiletries and the power cord to his phone. She was leaning on the door to his room, glancing around at the private space that was very much what she expected from him. Tasteful art, a wall of bookshelves, neatly made bed. She crossed her arms, tucking her elbow away from the shoulder holster she was again wearing and spoke.

“So how did you do it?”

“Excuse me?”

“How did you gather up an entire circle of acquaintances that could all kick anyone's ass in a heartbeat?”

The look he gave her was canny, a glimpse of the man once known as the Dread Wolf of Mythal. “Carefully. It took time.”

“Such a test of your forbearance,” she teased. He scoffed, acknowledging her hit. Solas was anything but patient, or at least, he had been. This man was nearly a stranger to her after a decade in hiding.

“I have never treated this lightly,” he reminded her.

“I know.” She watched him zip up the bag and heft it over his shoulder, the ripple of the movement straining his shirt. She blinked away her distraction and focused on his face. “Where will we go? You know this city better than I do.”

“I am not certain. We need to be cautious and hide our tracks well.”

“What, no safehouse?”

“Not that we can get to readily on foot.”

“That wasn't very good planning.”

He scowled at her, but didn't disagree. She had already packed her things, so she gathered them up and they left the apartment. She waited as he set the security and locked both door and gate. Then they went back down through the bar. To her surprise, and evidently his, the Iron Bull was sitting there.

“It was your car?” he asked, in a tone that made it not a question at all. He grinned when he saw her face shifting between wanting to answer and keeping it quiet. “Dorian and I have room to keep you, if you want. Least for tonight. He's already gone on home, if you're concerned.”

Outside on the street Esha could see the flashing lights of Val Royeaux police, as well as an unmarked SUV that screamed something higher up the law enforcement food chain to her. Bull noticed her gaze out the window and nodded his horned head.

“Yeah, the Nightingale's people are out there.”

“The Nightingale?”

“She's the head of Orlesian National Security. Tough little bird, but she gets the job done.”

Solas had frozen at Esha's side. She put her hand on his arm and saw Bull's focus zero in on her sidearm. She dismissed any worry about that. She already figured he had tapped her as being ASP. She whispered to Solas, “I leave this to your discretion. It's your safety.”

Bull stood up, finishing off his drink in one gulp. “Look, I'm not going to ask any questions in public, but if you need to get hidden, I can do it. I've known you a few years now, Professor Fen. You're no more a professor than I am a football coach. Never mind that we use those excuses as our day job. You're in deep shit here, and I can help.”

“And Dorian?” Solas asked stiffly.

“He's a Vint. You think he doesn't know how to keep from yapping?”

“I cannot ask you to put yourselves into such...”

“You aren't. I'm offering. I suggest you take it while it's on the table.” Bull grinned suddenly, bright and cheerful as if the street wasn't glowing with police and fire trucks. “Besides, we can finish that chess game.”

“All right Bull. Just for tonight.”

The Qunari gestured to the back, where the building let out into an empty yard fenced in haphazardly from another lot. It had stopped raining for the moment but the night was still overcast. They took advantage of the dark as Bull held back the fence as they ducked through it and took them to an SUV parked on the corner. It was unremarkable other than its size. Esha and Solas climbed into the back while Bull folded himself into the driver's seat. He caught her eye in the rearview mirror as he did. “The glass is good. Serrault and bulletproof.”

She nodded and ignored Solas's indignant face that the pair of them seemed to be eclipsing him already from the conversation. Just the same, she turned to look out the back to make sure they weren't being followed.

“So, you wanna fill me in now?”

She wondered just how much Solas would tell the spy turned football coach, evidently. Bull didn't seem to be in any hurry, carefully taking them out of the city and into the suburbs without drawing any attention to the way he was driving.

“I used to work for Evanuris Inc.,” Solas said eventually.

“Ahh, now it all falls into place.”

“Oh?”

“You're the mole that dug out. I've heard about you. Back in the day, I mean.”

If anything Solas went stiffer in the seat next to her. “I am not sure how I feel about that.”

“Don't take it personal. Ben-Hassrath keep their eyes and ears on anything of note. Security leak from the highest tier of _the_ Arlathani conglomerate? Yeah, that's worth noting.” He turned a corner smoothly. Esha watched their retreat. About ten seconds later, she saw another car turn to follow.

“Eyes on,” she said.

“Understood,” Bull replied. He shifted back to Solas. “In my Seheron days, Evanuris Inc. was a top priority. We lost some good men to an op that went shitshaped by some creature that got dumped on the island in the middle of the night. Wasn't long after that we pulled back from Tevinter to focus on the problem. Trouble was, no source could be tracked. I lost my eye to that. Forced medical retirement.”

Esha took note of their tail and risked a glance at Bull. “I call bullshit.”

He grinned wide. “All official like, even. I didn't go rogue for another few years. Love'll do that to you.”

“So you still have contacts in the Qun?” she asked, turning back to check the tail. It had dropped back behind another vehicle, but she could still see it. She didn't think for a moment that Bull had actually gone rogue, although it probably said that on the books.

“A few. Probably not enough.” He turned the SUV again, threading their way onto a busy highway. She hadn't been paying much attention to the neighborhood, but it seemed he'd looped around, going back into the city proper. The tail followed them onto the highway but stayed a few lengths back.

“The eyes are persistent,” she said.

“Got it. Shall we ask them to dance?”

“You up for that?”

“Hey, I'm always up for dancing.”

“Your call.”

He drifted towards an exit and drove around until they were near the harbor, then pulled the SUV under an overpass. He parked it and turned off the lights and Esha readied her pistol, just in case. The tail pulled into view a few minutes later and parked crosswise behind them. A woman got out of the driver's seat. Bull made a surprised sound and got out, much to Esha's sudden alarm.

“Easy there, pretty princess. It's the Nightingale herself.”

The woman wore a hood and seemed to be wearing a well fitted dress that was too stiff to be anything but body armor. What Esha could see of her face was soft and attractive, with an edge to it that spoke of experience in using that to her advantage.

“I should have guessed, Iron Bull,” the woman said by way of greeting. Her accent was the typically liquid kind that Orlesians had, although some pains had been taken to make it more forceful and less indolent sounding. “That was rather sloppy, however.”

“Hey, I'm working with what I have on hand,” he defended himself. Esha and Solas stayed where they were inside the SUV, but the conversation was clearly audible through the open driver's side door. Even still, Bull's bulk covered most of it.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Home.” Esha could hear the jocular tone in his voice. “Just a nice, amiable get together between old friends.”

The Nightingale peered through the dark glass, but couldn't really see them. “Good enough. If you don't mind, I'll stay to escort.” She raised her voice a little to be sure they heard her. “This is bigger than you know, Professor.”

“Careful now, Red. There are ears everywhere.”

“I'm well aware. Take care, Bull. Give my love to Dorian.”

“Will do.” Bull waited until the Nightingale got back in her car and had cleared the way for them to drive out before he got back in the driver's seat and started the engine again. He looked back at Esha. “You can relax. Enjoy the ride. Having her eyes on us isn't a bad thing.”

“I'll believe that when there's more proof than your word, if you don't mind.”

“Nah, I don't mind.”

The drive out of the city was easy and pleasant, although there was little conversation between them. Eventually Bull pulled the SUV into a gated community, having pressed a button hidden on the sun visor. The other car stayed outside and waited until the gate was closed before driving away. Bull, meanwhile, took them up the curve of the street to a well lit residence. He didn't get out until the garage door was safely shut behind them. The door leading into the house opened and Dorian stood there, nearly vibrating with either rage or worry.

“Amatus...what have you brought to our doorstep now?”

“The same trouble as always, kadan,” Bull retorted, opening the back door so Solas and Esha could step out. “Hope you made up the guest bed.”

Dorian heaved a dramatic sigh before throwing his hands in the air. “Vishante kaffas.” He collected himself and stood back to let them in. “Welcome to our humble, highly protected abode, Solas. Esha. I assume there will be the usual questions and answers now? Shall I open a bottle of wine? Set out a cheese platter?”

“Ooh, we have any of that Nevarran red left?”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, well used to his partner's antics, it seemed. “Yes, my love, we do.”


	5. In Which There Is Wine and Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/16/20

They settled down with glasses of red wine and Dorian's promised cheese platter at the kitchen table, an ornately hefty thing of granite on solid blocks. It struck Esha as being very Qunari and wasn't the least bit surprised when Bull mentioned he'd had it shipped from Par Vollen. The rest of the house appeared to be an interesting blend of the two cultures as well, vibrant colors mixed with modular and heavy furniture. An overall aesthetic that demonstrated the relationship of the two men.

Esha sampled her glass and tried a pale yellow cheese on a cracker, determined not to get sidetracked. She looked up to see Bull's eye on her.

“First things first. You leave anything incriminating in that car?”

“No. I had nothing in it other than myself and my luggage. Which I have here.”

“No paperwork?”

“None. I'm...technically off the books.”

“So ASP didn't send you.”

She leaned back and appraised him. He was a hulk of a man, a bit soft around the edges. She didn't let it fool her. A meticulous mind was behind that eyepatch. “They did and they didn't. My supervisor knows I'm here. Solas and I have history with this business.”

A slight smile creased Bull's lips. “And of a more personal kind, right?”

She raised an eyebrow at Bull, figuring there was no way to hide it from a Ben-Hassrath who probably knew what her shoe size was just by looking at her. “What of it?”

Bull laughed before turning to face Solas squarely, meeting his stoic expression. “All right, I won't poke, Professor. Just allow me to say it's good to see you have emotions. On to business then. The data?”

“Secured,” Solas said.

“Not on your person or in your home.”

“No.”

“Hold on, amatus,” Dorian interrupted. “Someone needs to tell me what's going on here.”

“Dorian,” Solas said softly. “I used to work for Evanuris Inc. Ten years ago I hacked their central mainframe, downloaded all of their files and escaped with my life. I then made the data I found publicly accessible in an attempt to bring down the various companies perpetrating crimes against the races of Thedas, as well as the monopoly they practice across those industries.”

Dorian's eyes bugged out as he stared at Solas. “ _You're_ the Dread Wolf?!”

Solas raised an eyebrow at him. “Does my reputation precede me into Tevinter then?”

There was a sputter, and then a laugh. “All these years we've known each other and I would never have guessed.” He cast a frown at Bull. “And you knew this and never said a word?”

“Hey, I didn't know until he told me tonight.”

Dorian focused back on Solas. “And I take the Evanuris did not look fondly upon you for your antics and are now hounding you for their collective pound of flesh.”

“In a manner of speaking. For years I've successfully hidden from them. However...”

“Two weeks ago, the CEO, Mythal, was murdered,” Esha picked up. “Now there's no one pulling the reins back. Borders don't matter to them, nor do human laws or bystanders.”

“How many are we talking about here?”

“There are seven principle heads remaining.”

Dorian looked even more incredulous. “Seven...seven elves?”

“Not just any elves, Dorian. Immortal ones.”

The Tevinter mage slumped into his seat with an expression that was utterly shaken. Bull watched him struggle with it. That pronouncement had been no shock to the former Ben-Hassrath, Esha noticed. There were times she wished she had the resources the Qun had. Although she was equally as glad not to have to suffer the same lifestyle in order to get them.

“How does that even work, by the by?” Dorian asked finally, a little distractedly as if he couldn't wrap his head around it. “The Dalish certainly aren't immortal.”

“It is complicated. There is...an _energy_ about Arlathan that endows its citizens with longer life. For those who rarely leave its confines, that can be manipulated into effective immortality. It is part of why the borders are so tightly monitored.”

“So it's magic, then?” Bull asked. Solas made a face that didn't quite answer, but didn't deny it either.

“But why are they still after you?” Dorian went on. “I gather a decade must seem like nothing to an immortal, but...”

“Indeed,” Solas agreed. “I am still holding some of the secrets in reserve. As well as...other things.”

“What other things?” Bull asked, suddenly sharp.

“None that need concern you, Tal-Vashoth.”

For a moment it looked like it might be tense between them, then Bull grinned. “All right, mage. I'll let it slide for now. More relevant is what your next move will be.”

“It is obvious I cannot go back to my apartment right now. I do have a safehouse, but getting there will be tricky with so many eyes on us.”

“What about leaving the country?”

“I have already traveled from Arlathan to Tevinter, Rivain, Antiva and Ferelden to finally end up in Orlais. I am running out of places to go.”

“I don't mean permanently. They can't be unstoppable. You just need to bide your time. Fake your own death or something.”

“Perhaps I should throw myself upon the mercy of the Qun and have my mind erased,” Solas said, clipped and hard. There was an undercurrent of loathing in his words. Even in ASP they'd heard about the alchemical mind eraser the Qun used. Heard about it and feared it.

“Bickering won't get us anywhere,” Esha pointed out before Bull could reply to the thrown gauntlet. “For now we just need a place to lay low, get some rest, get our feet under us.”

“I offered the guest room, that offer stands. Anything tries to get to you, it has to go through me.”

“Believe me, Andruil would most certainly try,” Solas muttered.

“Hunter type?” Bull looked pleased. “I love hunter types.”

“A particularly sadistic one, at that. Dorian, you might be better off removing yourself from the location.”

The physics professor looked affronted. “I am quite capable, you know. Eight years with this brute hasn't come without its perks. Not to mention, my family is in the Magisterium. I was raised on intrigue for breakfast and backstabbing for lunch. I do not frighten easily.”

“As I am a guest in your house, I will not gainsay you on the matter,” Solas said formally with an almost regal nod. Esha noticed he looked exhausted and had barely touched his wine. She put her hand over his on the table.

“You need some sleep. I think we'll be safe enough here for the night.”

“I...you're right. Forgive me, I am not used to relying upon others for aid.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend. Come, let's get you all tucked in.” Dorian stood with a flourish and finished off his wine. Esha watched Solas go off with him, and stayed at the table with Bull, figuring he wasn't done interrogating her just yet.

She was right.

“How off the books are you?”

“My boss knows I'm here. I'm technically on a leave of absence from ASP, but my credentials are all in place. I'm under no specific orders other than to keep him alive and reasonably unharmed.”

“And the past history? I'm not talking about Evanuris Inc. now.”

“Over and done.”

“Is it? I get the feeling that's not quite accurate.”

“Fine. There's...a remnant. Strictly platonic.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” He leaned back in his chair and twirled his glass. It looked ridiculous in his massive hand. Like he could snap it easier than a twig. He took a long swallow and set it back on the table with great care. “Just so I know what I'm getting myself into.”

“You don't have to get into anything, you know. You don't have to be involved in this.”

“I like the Professor. Always have. When we first met, he used to pick fights with me about the Qun. Took us months to press out the seams, as Dorian would say. As you can see, there's still a few wrinkles. But he's got a clever mind behind that humble facade. And I always knew there was more to him than art history. He's a pretty good mage too. He and Dorian have had contests. I won't lie and say it doesn't make my skin crawl, but that's another matter. My point is, I like him. I'm willing to help him. And if you're doing the same, then I like you too.”

“Thanks, Bull.” She selected another piece of cheese and layered it on a cracker. She waved off a topper on her glass and sat in the quiet of the Tevinter-Qunari kitchen and tried to release some of the tension of the long day.

“When did you get in?”

“Around 4 this afternoon. Went straight from the airport to the college, been at his side ever since.”

“That's what, three times zones?”

“Yeah.”

“You looked beat. Go on. You two are safe here. My word on the Qun.”

She stood, suddenly feeling the weariness drop on her like a wet blanket. “All right. Where...?”

“Up the stairs, first door on the left.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, Bull.”

“Esha.”

She climbed the stairs and found Dorian just backing out of the guest room. “Ahh, Esha, there you are. I'm sorry to assume, but I only made up one room.”

“It's fine.”

“Washroom is just there if you care to freshen up, or tidy up or whatever you need to do.”

“Thanks.”

“I'll say goodnight, then.”

“Yeah. 'Night.” She waited until Dorian had gone back down the stairs before she escaped into the bathroom and closed the door. She needed to check in with Abelas before she did anything, and she pulled out her phone and hit send as soon as she had a secure line, ignoring the deplorably gaudy décor, all gold leaf and ostentatious frippery. “Sir.”

“Report, Sentinel Lavellan.”

From his tone, she could tell he was upset she'd waited so long. She should have called him hours ago. Not that she had much choice in the matter. “Things have escalated. The Huntress struck. The rental was bombed. We've been on the go until now.”

She heard him sigh and could picture him at his desk, austere and disciplined. She felt her own spine straighten just thinking about it. “You are safe?”

“For the moment. We haven't made any plans beyond getting some sleep tonight.”

“Where are you?”

“With...friends.”

“Hmm. Take no chances.”

“I know, sir.”

“I will inform you if anything changes here. In the meantime, go radio silent unless you need backup.” He paused. “You had better not need backup, Sentinel Lavellan.”

“Understood, sir.”

The line went dead in her hands and she knew the next time she called, it would be rerouted through a scrambler. Abelas took his duty to Arlathan seriously, just as he took his role as the head of ASP seriously. But he had taken Mythal's murder hard. They were friends, after a fashion. There was no doubt that his precision and attention to detail would be escalated because of it. All that said, however, she was on the other side of the map, and even if she needed help, it would be a long time coming. Better to know ahead of time that she was on her own.

She scrubbed her face with her hands and tidied herself up, trying to avoid her own reflection in the large gilt mirror hanging over the double sink. She brushed her teeth, braided her hair and took a deep breath before leaving the washroom. When she went into the guest bedroom, she found Solas sitting up in the bed. The room was small, but secure. The only window was covered with a heavy curtain, under which she saw an additional layer of filmy sheer drapery. There was a dresser and a chair, currently holding Solas's travel bag. The bed was...going to be a squeeze.

She sighed.


	6. In Which There Is Only One Bed**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/23/20
> 
> Mildly NSFW, because _of course _I took full advantage of the trope.__

Esha sat on the end of the bed and stared between her feet at the floor. “This is gonna be awkward.”

“Why?” Solas asked, a little dryly.

She turned her head enough to see him in her periphery. “We haven't shared a bed in...”

“I am aware of how long.” His voice was clipped with underlying tension and something akin to anger. She could just about _feel_ him make the effort to soothe it. “We have no designs upon each other, and we both need sleep. Let us not argue about it. It is only one night, after all.”

“You're right.”

She stood and kicked off her shoes, only noticing then just how very tired her feet were after a night in cute little flats rather than her typical boots. She shimmied out of her jeans but left on her tee and got under the covers. Solas turned off the light. The bed itself wasn't all that small – it was bigger than a standard double, after all – but Solas was tall, with long limbs. He took up space. He arranged himself as compactly as he could, on his back with his hands laced across his abdomen. Esha turned over to see him that way in the gloom of the darkened room.

“I wish I'd gotten here sooner.”

“Perhaps I am wishing I called sooner. Or simply left at the first sign. I knew it was impossible to think that I could escape forever. Especially now that Mythal is...”

“We'll stop them, Solas. We'll find a way. Her death will not go unavenged.” She wasn't sure why she was trying to convince him. Or maybe it was more she was admitting that she was here to help him, not just protect him. Evanuris Inc.'s crimes could not be allowed to stand. It was the whole reason Abelas had asked her to come here, even though ASP was supposed to be impartial.

“Yes. I am sure we will.”

“I'm sorry you didn't get to finish out the semester.”

“I have already filed a request for emergency leave with Madame de Fer. Secure email, I am not a fool before you say anything.”

“I wasn't going to.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation and he settled himself with every visible sign of going to sleep. It came harder for Esha. Between the circumstances, the strange bed in a strange house, and him at her side, she was too keyed up. She rolled over so her back was to him and closed her eyes. She knew if she pretended sleep long enough, it would become reality.

She was cozy and warm when she woke, and the room was several shades lighter than it had been before, although with the heavy curtain over the window it was still dark and gloomy. But she could tell it was morning, and they should get moving. Still, it was nice not to be running, just for now. She was fully aware it wouldn't last long.

The warmth, she discovered as soon as she moved, was Solas.

He had rolled towards her in the night, wrapping himself around her back, their hips aligned and his knees tucked behind hers. His arm had wrapped around her and his fingers were spread across her shirt just under her breasts. She could feel the light press of his lips against the back of her neck and repressed a shiver. There was a time when this had been his favorite way to wake her, when things were different. When they were lovers. Gentle touches would turn ravenous and their bodies would flow together as seamlessly as two joining rivers.

But that time was long over. She couldn't even say it had died. It had simply ended when he disappeared and she ran back to her fellow Sentinels, suitably admonished, no longer the Dread Wolf's keeper. That part had always burned. Was their relationship ever real? Had it meant anything to him? Or was it just a casual dalliance while he made off with stolen data like the thief he was?

She shifted against him, her intent to move out of the circle of his arm and cocooning warmth of his touch, but he held her tight. She didn't think he was actually awake, not from the muffled sound he made when she settled back against him. He would never have allowed that noise to escape if he was conscious. He burrowed deeper against the back of her neck, nuzzling her hairline and she shuddered. A ticklish thrill went down her spine.

It had once felt so _right_ , laying like this, pressed together like flowers in a book. Once it would have been skin to skin with nothing to stop them from taking it wherever they wished. Once _she_ would have been the one to roll over and straddle him while still half asleep, taking him inside her and riding him to a finish that would leave them both breathless and sated.

But that was ten years ago, and neither of them were the people they once were.

“Solas...” she whispered. She couldn't tell if it was a question or a warning.

Either way, he didn't answer, still too far gone in sleep. His lips moved across the small patch of skin bared by the collar of her tee. They were soft. He wasn't kissing her exactly, but merely running them along her skin, a butterfly wing of pressure with little expectation to do more. Still, she had no doubt he remembered what that did to her. Or he would, if he was awake. She was half tempted to let him have his way and almost against her will she pressed her hips back into his, rewarded with a similar push from him.

He was hard. Of course he was.

She'd forgotten just how much she loved the feel of him against her. And in the gloom of early morning, with the house quiet and no one currently trying to kill them, she let herself revel in it, just for a while. Like a secret she was keeping from herself. She pushed back against him again, bearing down onto his hard length and wiggling her hips as if to encourage him. He responded by slipping his hand over her breast, squeezing it through her shirt. A tiny gasp escaped her. His erection throbbed against her backside.

She was in a helpless grip of her own making. It was futile to ignore how much she still wanted him, no matter what else had occurred. She writhed and pushed against him, and he met her, his fingers tight on her breast, his breath turning hot against her neck. A murmur of sound passed from him into her skin and he let go of her breast only to shove her shirt out of his way with impatience. She still didn't think he was truly awake. Such a careless motion was not like him.

His hand slipped beneath her tee, sliding up her ribs to her bra, which was then pushed up so he could reach her nipple, already taut against his seeking fingers. Her body was growing languid and pliant and she knew, she _knew_ this was dangerous. She _knew_ she should push him away, get out of the bed, get away from him before his eyes opened and he realized what he was doing. She didn't.

He toyed with her nipple and thrust his hips against her and she shamelessly let him, she even moaned.

And that noise was enough to break the spell. He grew still, the sweep of his eyelashes against her neck a near whisper that screamed as his eyes snapped open. She lay in his arms and stared at the closed door and tried desperately to ignore the pang of loss as his body withdrew from hers.

“Esha...”

“Don't worry about it, Solas,” she said roughly, finally pushing herself to a seated position on the side of the bed. The distance between them felt much wider than it was, and she was suddenly cold. With an absent tug from her thumb she realigned her bra so it wasn't cutting into her.

“I'm sor...”

“I said don't worry about it.” She got up, wobbling only a little on legs that wanted to wrap around him and she found her jeans. She thrust her legs into them far more harshly than was necessary and didn't look at him. She grabbed her bag and left the room before she completely fell apart.

This was going to be a problem. A serious one. Her best option was to face it head on and nip it before she was pining for him like the twenty five year old she'd once been. Ten years was a long time. Too much had changed. Too much was at stake. She closed her eyes to keep the sting of tears from becoming any more real.

Their hosts were downstairs, she reminded herself. She could see the lights on in the kitchen, could hear the normal sounds of a coffeemaker and the sizzle of breakfast being made. A shadow detached itself from the glare and Dorian poked his head into the stairwell to see her standing there.

“I put some towels in the bathroom for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “Thanks again, for everything.”

The Tevinter grinned up at her, his dimple showing and his mustache twitching. “Not a problem. I'm well used to Bull bringing home strays. You're hardly the first.”

A huff of laughter left her, which helped dispel the knot in her chest. She dredged up an answering grin for him and he nodded once before he disappeared back into the kitchen. Right, she needed a shower. Probably a cold one would be best.

She needed a lot of things, she admitted to herself in the privacy of the awful, gaudy bathroom. A lot of things she couldn't have. She stripped, fighting back the urge that wanted to bury her nose in her shirt to see if she could still smell him there. And then she resolutely washed it all away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the final chapter for the year. Angel and I will be back in 2021. Blessings upon you all, we made it through the year from hell.


	7. In Which There Is Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/6/21
> 
> Happy New Year!

“Coffee?” Dorian asked as she stepped into the kitchen, freshly showered, dressed in clean clothes, her hair wrapped in a towel, her feet still bare.

“Thanks.”

“Cream or sugar...or both?”

“Black, please.”

“Ooh, another masochist,” Bull joked from his spot at the table. He had his phone in front of him, entirely engulfed in his large hands. He needed a stylus to use it, she noticed. The sight of it was enough to arrest her wayward thoughts for a moment and she focused on it like a laser, entirely willing to let it distract her from the mess she'd left upstairs.

When she finally managed to peel her eyes away from Bull scrolling through his phone, it was to see Dorian already dressed for the day as if he was going to work. He wore an understated dress shirt paired with a gloriously riotous paisley tie. That hit her too, that it was just another Friday for these two.

“You'll be all right going in to teach today?” she asked, accepting a steaming mug from the physics professor.

“I see no reason why I shouldn't. To my knowledge, this Hunter you spoke of doesn't know I'm involved in any way.”

“Unless Bull was tailed home and I didn't catch it.”

“Are you always so paranoid?” Dorian went on, only slightly jocular. She could see his serious expression beneath the faint mocking.

“Yes.”

“That's good,” Bull said gruffly. “Probably keeps you alive.”

The Qunari got up from the table and thumped his partner on the ass as he passed by, his eye twinkling when Dorian sputtered. Esha sipped her coffee – thick and heady, must have come straight from Tevinter – and hid a smile in the rim of the mug. At least someone was having a normal day, it appeared.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“A good breakfast...”

“Ugh, you sound like Solas.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow in her direction. “About that...did you have a good night?”

Dorian's voice was smooth but coy, and Esha nearly choked on her coffee. “Are you asking me if we defiled your guest room last night? That would be awfully rude, don't you think?”

Dorian waved a negligent hand at her and turned back to the stove, where he was frying eggs. “We have a washing machine...at least, I assume we do. Not my department really. Bull handles those chores.”

The thought of the massive Qunari, a semi-retired Ben-Hassrath spy, being something of a house husband was just about more than Esha could take this early in the morning and she sank down to sit at the table with her coffee. For a while there was only the sizzle and pop of the frying eggs and the gurgle of the coffeemaker. Distantly, she heard the door upstairs open and Solas's light tread go down the hall to the bathroom. She froze slightly, but enough that her host saw it.

“A touchy subject?” he asked, unaware of the flight of birds that took off in her stomach at his phrasing.

“You could say that,” she managed.

Dorian slid two fried eggs onto a plate and set it down in front of her with a fork. His expression brooked no argument and she tucked in, whether she wanted to or not. A minute later he laid a slice of buttered toast next to the remainder and topped off her mug. She had to admit, the food was delicious. He'd done something spicy to the eggs and they woke her up more surely than the coffee did.

“You said we weren't the first strays Bull has brought home?” she asked, just to fill the silence.

“Ahh, yes. He seems to collect them. First it was a young lady from the Qun when she needed a place to lay low while she decided whether or not to go Tal-Vashoth, then it was a fellow Tevinter who'd been kicked out for falsifying his medical records.” Dorian looked thoughtful for a moment. “To be fair, that one has stuck around. Krem is a delightful young man. He's become quite the good assistant coach to the team. Well, be that as it may...I am well used to Bull's habit of helping every poor downtrodden creature he comes across. Regardless of whether they need his help or not.”

“It's appreciated. I promise we'll get out of your hair soon.”

“No rush on my account, my dear. My door is positively flung open for you.”

“Thank you. But we've put you in enough danger.”

Dorian plated his own breakfast and sat down across from her. His face was quite serious now. “Tell me, just how dangerous is this?”

“I wouldn't put it past Andruil to have anyone killed in her pursuit of Solas. She's ruthless and uncaring of the consequences.”

“And she has the backing of Evanuris Inc.'s multitudes of lawyers if she crosses too many lines,” Solas said from the kitchen door. She hadn't even heard him come down the stairs. She'd regained enough of her composure to meet his eye briefly, but saw that he was still working on his. Dorian jumped up and offered him his seat, as well as breakfast. Solas accepted the breakfast but turned down the coffee. Typical.

Of course, now they were facing each other across the table. His face had turned inscrutable, but she could see the shape of something moving in his eyes as he looked her over. She remembered that her hair was still in a towel. He, on the other hand, looked clean and polished in dark jeans and an equally dark pullover shirt that hugged every line of his arms and chest. It was much more what she expected from him. This was a man ready to run at the first hint of danger, not a staid instructor on art and iconography.

She finished up her food and stood up to take her plate to the sink, as well as her empty mug. Dorian hummed a vaguely grateful sound at her and she left the kitchen to finish drying her hair and pack up their things. Occasionally she heard the murmur of conversation between the two professors, but it was low enough that nothing other than their voices could be discerned. She hung up her towel on the empty bar in the bathroom and was just coming out when Bull emerged from their room, dressed in what looked like tactical wear. He grinned at her.

“I thought I might give you a lift to that safehouse the Professor mentioned.”

“All right.” She really couldn't turn that down; they had no other mode of travel right now and public transit was out of the question. Far too many security risks.

“Just let me make sure Dorian gets to ValRoy safe first.”

“Of course.”

Bull went back downstairs and Esha let herself back into the guest room. Where she did nothing but slump onto the edge of the bed and stare into space. This whole mission had gone pearshaped. Innocent people were dragged into Solas's mess, as usual. They had no trajectory, no plans other than escape with their skin intact. And now they had the simmering hum of rekindled desire between them that was going to make things more difficult.

She remembered then that she had been running a trace on the burner phone Andruil had taunted Solas from and she powered up her laptop to see if it had ever finished. Not that it was particularly necessary at this point. It was obvious the Huntress was in town. It didn't really matter where precisely. The radius of a hundred miles or ten feet wouldn't make a difference with her. Although, that being said, Esha knew Andruil preferred making her kills up close and personal.

As expected, the trace had hit a dead end somewhere in the nearest cell tower hub. She closed the laptop and wished she had better resources at hand. What she wouldn't give to have security footage to sift through. It occurred to her that ONS might, but that was a wrinkle she wasn't sure she wanted to touch. Being an accredited ASP agent gave her several immunities, but that didn't mean she could flagrantly disrespect local authorities with them. Especially considering she was not technically on active duty.

“Esha?” Bull called up the stairs, bringing her back to the present. “We're leaving.”

“All right, see you when you get back.”

She heard the door from the kitchen close, heard two cars start up and the distinctive sound of the garage opening to let them out. A part of her waited to hear gunfire. But this was a gated community, and while it wouldn't be beyond Andruil to sneak in, a broad daylight hit was probably still somewhat outside the realm of possibilities. For now.

Silence reigned again and she realized this would be her best opportunity to face Solas alone, while they still had the time to talk. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and went back to the kitchen.

He was still at the granite table, idly pushing about the last bits of his breakfast on his plate. He hadn't heard her come in, so she stole the time to just watch him. He was tense, but his face betrayed little of it. His mind was always working, however, and she wondered how much of it was focused on their current situation or their... _other_ situation. For that matter, she didn't know which one took precedence for him at the moment.

She cleared her throat to get his attention and when his eyes snapped to hers, flashing silver in the kitchen lights, she gave him a half smile. “We should talk.”

“Yes, we should.” He gestured across the table. “Sit down, Eshali'nan.”

Well, _that_ boded well. She wished she'd put shoes on.


	8. In Which There Is An Attempt to Make Things Plain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/13/21
> 
> Have some exposition disguised as dialogue.

Esha sat down and crossed her arms, trying to look anywhere but at the sleek outline of his chest through his shirt. _No man should look that good_ , she bemoaned to herself. “Solas...”

He held up his hand, halting her. “Please, let me start. I want to apologize. I should have had more self control. It was...ill-considered.”  
“Solas, I am not going to berate you for something you did in your sleep. Especially since I was...not discouraging it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Indeed?”

She flushed under his gaze, so straightforward and clear. That stare was mesmerizing in its intensity. And within it she could see it still, his desire for her. The same one that burned in her, that they needed to face and deal with so they could move on. They had bigger things to worry about than getting into each other's pants. She blew out a breath and tried to steer her thoughts away from that.

“Look, I...I've missed what we used to have. I'll admit it. It was _ill-considered_ of me to...go with it. We don't need this complication.”

“You are correct,” he agreed, although his face said he didn't completely.

“We shouldn't let it happen again.”

“If you prefer.”

She scowled at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to spout at him that _no_ , she would much prefer to tear his clothes off right here at the table of his friend and their current host and mount him, but she bit it back. It wouldn't help. Admitting it was the first step in letting it happen. And that was not why she was here. She forced herself to say the words aloud. “I do.”

“Ma nuvenin.”

“We need to figure out what we're doing next. Bull says he can take us to your safehouse. From there...?”

Solas sighed and dropped his hands to the table when he laced his fingers together so tightly his knuckles went white. “From there, I will need to bring you fully up to speed. There is more, Esha, than what I've told you in the past.”

“I kinda figured that. I know you downloaded the entire mainframe, but what you've released can't be all of it.”

“That is not all that I mean.” She waited for him to go on, but he seemed reluctant. She deliberately slouched, making her posture less defensive and more patient as he collected his thoughts. He quirked a wry smile at her as he noticed. “Do you remember how we met?”

She could never forget it. He had been wild haired and terrified the first time they met. She knew it now, but didn't then, that he'd just left the Evanuris Inc. headquarters with his intact download. He'd come to ASP for asylum, but Abelas had been unable to provide it without proof that he was being hunted. She had been a very new addition to the Sentinel ranks at the time. Abelas could not provide sanctuary, but he _could_ provide cover while Solas made his escape from Arlathan. Esha had been assigned that job.

From there, it had been a whirlwind of late night flights, long car rides into the country and one spectacular weekend in the rolling hills of an Antivan vineyard. Then it had been a race to stay ahead of the Evanuris, hopping from place to place, never stopping for more than a night. After three months, Esha and Solas parted ways at a Fereldan train station. He'd disappeared, while she returned to Arlathan, head hanging that she 'allowed' her subject to escape. She took the official reprimand, said nothing to anyone about the closed door meeting she had with Abelas regarding her good work, and moved on with her career.

When the data was leaked onto the internet, she said nothing then too.

“Of course I remember,” she said.

“I was never out of contact with Mythal during that time.”

“What?”

“She is the reason I hacked the Evanuris servers. She asked me to do it. She knew what was happening under her nose, but she could do nothing about it. She was outnumbered and outvoted, her position as CEO nothing more than an honorary title. In the intervening years, she continually helped me hide. Until her death, she was successful.”

“Is that how Andruil found you? You think she's the one who pulled the metaphorical trigger on Mythal, then found out about your continued correspondence?”

“Yes.”

“And the others never knew? I have to admit, I'm surprised.”

“Mythal was good at hiding her tracks. And she had withdrawn from much of the public side of the Arlathani investments. In the last five years, she poured more resources into expansions across Thedas than at home. She funded numerous clans of the Dalish personally, and supplied the Rivaini Seers with training as well as having them hold onto relics and artifacts for her. I am fairly certain she had ties to the Carta and the Grey Wardens. I know for certain that a large anonymous endowment was made to the College of Magi by her. It is what funded my employment there.”

“She was trying to undo the damage of years of Evanuris backstabbing, wasn't she?”

“She was.”

“Why? Why from the background?”

“For exactly the reason she was murdered. She wanted to break apart the monopoly, return to the power of the individual industries to their employees and the people. She deplored the state of Arlathani politics, the slavery, the atrocities being committed beneath public notice. She felt the Evanuris had held onto their greed so long it had corrupted them, and she was right. She never denied her own part in it, but she wanted to make amends.”

“How did she die? The Evanuris are supposed to be immortal as long as they're in Arlathan.”

“Yes. I imagine it took a great deal of Andruil's personal power to commit such an act, and to prevent Mythal from regenerating. She is still weak from it, and that is our only advantage now. She can be stopped, but only for now.”

“How are we going to stop her, Solas?”

“I am not sure yet. My data on them all is sadly out of date.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

“I know. Certainly no human built prison would hold them. Dwarven perhaps, but they are reluctant to enter into such an agreement considering they already house the remnants of Tevinter's stormy past. That is borrowing trouble, to keep so many politically charged criminals so close together.”

Tevinter had gone through a complete and total governmental and religious upheaval not three hundred years ago. Their heads of state – commonly referred to as the 'Old Gods' – had been taken down in a bloody coup led by the rebel Andraste and her husband. Andraste had been killed, and the common folk of Tevinter had risen up against her murderers to exact revenge. In their zealous belief in the rebel, a new religion had been born. The followers of Andraste's Maker had spread out far and wide from Tevinter until much of Thedas worshiped him.

The dwarves of Orzammar, meanwhile, had built a prison to house the overthrown leaders, who'd claimed divine right to rule. All of them were mages, and were the root cause of the fear of them in present day Thedas. More amazing still, for humans should have no ability to maintain effective immortality the way the Evanuris did, most of them were still alive, although they were aged and frail compared to what they had been.

Now Tevinter was run by the Magisterium, ostensibly more democratic, yet still thoroughly corrupted by ambition. It was no wonder men like Dorian sought escape from such a place.

“There must be a way,” Esha said, getting back to the subject at hand.

“If there is, I will find it, vhenan.”

Esha drew in a sharp breath. Surely he hadn't meant to say it. Surely not. He looked disconcerted himself, as if the endearment had slipped completely past his constant mental filter. His eyes met hers, stark and anguished for a moment before he blinked it back and his face resumed the placid expression of one merely discussing the weather. Even that passed, and something honest crossed his face. “Forgive me.”

Before she could say anything, they both heard Bull returning. With a shared look, they agreed to table the rest of that discussion for another time and went to gather up their things. The sooner they were out of this house, the safer his friends would be.

One hoped.


	9. In Which They Arrive At the Safehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/20/21

The drive to the safehouse was blessedly quiet and they arrived without incident. Esha looked the place over and if she hadn't known it was there, she wouldn't believe it was anything special. The lot was mostly asphalt, cracked and old, but beneath it she could see concrete. The building itself was small, just a inconspicuous gray square with a single solid steel door. The bunker was a facade; the safehouse was likely underneath, a part of the previous subway that Solas – or Mythal – had undoubtedly purchased outright. The transport system had been overhauled and rebuilt many years ago, and now the current railway line was no longer underground in this more industrialized part of Val Royeaux.

Bull saw Solas through the door, and stopped Esha before she followed him. “Take my number. In case you need it. This is a secure line, straight from the Qun.”

“All right.” She entered the numbers to her contact list, and offered her own.

Bull shook his head after looking at it for a moment. “Don't need it. Now, clear something up for me?”

“What?”

“Your name. Which is it?”

“Arla'athdhea is my father's family name. Lavellan is my mother's clan name. I carry both.”

“I hear the Dalish are nomads who turned their back on their kin and country. Any truth to that?”

“Well, they refused to submit to the Evanuris and were kicked out of Arlathan. Humans aren't the only ones with opposing opinions on the past.” She gave him a pointed look before it dissolved into a grin. “Is that really a question considering my mother is a 'halla rider' and my father isn't? The Keeper always said Mamae had too much of a rebellious streak, to go back to the land where our people left. But she isn't the First, or the Second, so their bond was acknowledged and it didn't cause much of a disturbance to the clan when she left it. Nor when she returned to it after they divorced. I am welcome in both halves of my heritage. There, does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“For the most part. Sometimes I think the Qun has the right idea. People always know their place. Other times...let's just say I recognize that the place people are in isn't always the best one.” He nodded once, serious again. “Take care of the Professor for me, pretty princess. He and I never did get to finish that chess match.”

“I will, Bull. Thank you, and Dorian. For everything.”

“Don't worry about it.”

She watched the Qunari fold himself into his oversized SUV and drive off, then made sure there were no eyes on her as she went into the bunker. Inside there was a single flight of stairs that led to the underground where she found Solas at the bottom. As she passed through the entryway, he locked and bolted the door behind her, then gestured at the area. It was less of a _safehouse_ and more of a _stronghold_. It looked like it had once been a transit station, she could even see where the tracks had been, blocked off at either end with solid cement.

“Well, as much as I chided you for it being out of the way, it certainly makes up for itself, doesn't it?”

He smirked and led the way down a shorter flight of stairs, this one off a gantry to the floor below. In the center was a bank of computers. Filling much of the old platform were rows upon rows of supplies, weapons crates and other sundry items she couldn't immediately identify. Beyond that, in a darkened corner, she saw a walled off area, probably living quarters where once there had been shops, or exits to the surface. She returned her attention to the computers and saw a man sitting there, flipping between security cameras. On one of them she saw herself captured in a still, watching Bull as he drove away.

“Our Child of Vengeance, born of the House of Dawn,” the man said without turning fully around. It was an accurate translation of her name and she cocked her head, filing away the observation of his fluency. “Welcome to our humble abode. What a name you bear.”

He got up then and came over to her. He was dark, from black hair to brown skin. It made his eyes stand out more, their violet hue shocking. As was the branching vallaslin on his brow.

“If you're Dalish, I'm the queen of Nevarra.”

“Felassan Dirthelan, at your service,” he said with a chuckle. “And I could say the same for you.”

“I am half Dalish, which I assume you already knew.”

He grinned at her. “So I did.”

“Felassan is one of my agents,” Solas said. “He's been with me since before I left Evanuris Inc.”

“And what a ride it's been, my friend,” Felassan said. He was charming, and his face was quite mobile and expressive. But under it, she could read some tension between them. Unspoken, barely acknowledged, but thick enough to taste. They had recently disagreed on something, and she had a feeling she knew what it was.

Herself.

“So, you're a Sentinel?”

And there it was.

“I am,” she confirmed with a little bow.

“Good work if you can get it, and put up with all the _rules_.”

“I take it you are not a fan of them?”

“And neither are you particularly.”

They appraised each other. She wanted to ask how such a man came to wear vallaslin, but it wasn't that important. She finally gave him a half smile. “I do well enough. I do what I'm told.”

“You do more than that. Since Solas told me you were coming, I've done some checking. You have had quite the career. Abelas shows great trust in you.”

“Are you acquainted?”

“We were once. Long ago. We served in the Arlathani army together. He kept up that discipline.” He made a self-deprecating moue. “I did not.”

“If we are all satisfied with each other's introductions?” Solas asked wryly, now checking the security feeds himself.

Esha nodded and went to his side. “I take it you have greater access to things here.”

“Yes. I can give you the necessary clearance to tap into the network. We need more eyes on locating Andruil.”

“The trace ended at a cell tower hub. I could get a better idea of which one if I could triangulate.”

“Ahh, the boring work of tracing,” Felassan commented with a chuckle. “I will make lunch. Solas...”

“Yes, Felassan?”

“You need to tell her everything.”

“I am aware, thank you.”

Esha watched the agent saunter off with a jaunty step. It was odd to think of Solas, so serious and often downright moody, working closely with someone so...irreverent. “An agent, you say?”

“Hmm, he has his uses. Do not let his attitude fool you. Felassan is sharp witted and canny. There are many who underestimate his abilities based upon the face he shows.”

“Is the vallaslin so he can walk both worlds as I do?” She was guessing, but it seemed as likely as any.

“Yes and no. He has worn those marks most of his life. He was once beholden to the Evanuris too.”

“You mean he was a slave.” She didn't bother to make it a question. Solas's eyes met hers and he nodded solemnly. It put into perspective why Felassan was wary of her as a Sentinel. In some respects, she was part of the authoritarian machine rampant in Arlathan. “How did he come to work for you?”

“I freed him. My work has not always been so...technological. I have employed a more hands on approach in the past. He chose to keep his marks.”

Vallaslin was one of the points of contention between Arlathani elves and the Dalish. For the elven nation, it had come to symbolize ownership. For the nomadic clans, it was a proclamation that they were free. She didn't understand all the intricacies, but when she was younger, and her mother had taken her to live with the clan after the divorce, the Keeper had offered, and Esha had accepted. She wore it to honor her mother's heritage, and she had also been at the teenage stage of rebellion at the time. Her father hated it, especially since she'd chosen deliberately evocative marks adapted from her name. _Vengeance_.

Her reveries were interrupted as Solas asked for her laptop, allowing her into his system and attaching his own security measures to it. It was another piece of trust and she wondered idly if it bothered him to need to extend it, or if he was comfortable with the idea. She nearly asked, but was distracted as her trace pinged. The signal _wasn't_ a dead end, and the trace bounced off that cell tower to another and another, all around Val Royeaux until it settled in a location on the other side of the city from where they were.

“Is she foolish enough to have kept the burner?” she muttered.

“It appears so. Or perhaps that is merely the location she dumped it.”

“It's still active.”

“Then perhaps we have caught a bit of luck. Andruil is generally considered more brutish than clever. She is operating without Ghilan'nain.”

“How do you know?” He stood up from the console and crossed his arms, giving her a severe look as if she should have figured it out herself. When she thought about it, it came to her. “If Ghilan'nain was here, her _creations_ would be too.”

“Yes.”

“All right,” she said, stepping back from the laptop. It seemed they might finally have a pinpointed location. Time to move on to other things. “What did Felassan mean when he said you needed to tell me everything? That implies there's more.”

“There is. And I am sorry. This will not be easy to say, nor easy for you to hear.”

She decided to sit down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Elvhen don't have family names. So I had to make one up for Felassan. It means something like 'Storyteller', which is appropriate I think for our dear Slow Arrow.


	10. In Which Esha Learns There Is So Much More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/27/21

She watched Solas pace, his hands behind his back, his tread soft on the concrete. He looked like he didn't know where to begin, and that worried her. Finally, he stopped and stood very straight, in a solid stance she recognized as parade rest. Had Solas also once served in the Arlathani army?

“You know that I once worked for the Evanuris willingly,” he began.

“Yes...”

“What I did not tell you was for how long. You are aware that the Evanuris are immortal. That is how they have grown their interests to include industries of every kind, how their wealth has accumulated apace. How their influence has spread to every corner of Arlathani government, culture and even over the citizenry.” He looked away from her for a second, and when he looked back, his eyes were doleful. He did not expect her to take this news well. “There are many among the elves of Arlathan who are also immortal. We can trace our lineage directly to the spirits of the Fade who first took on corporeal form. We can...access the connection that makes Arlathani citizens immortal.”

“We,” she repeated, too stunned to say more than that.

“Yes. I am one of them. I chose this body. I was born a spirit. And I made Arlathan my residence until just ten years ago.”

She felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her. She was frozen to her chair, hardly able to breathe. He was an immortal Elvhen. She had never learned exactly how elves of Arlathan maintained their immortality. It was something of a secret as well as an accepted part of living in the elven nation. The connection he mentioned was part of it, although she wasn't sure _what_ the connection was. She only knew that the Dalish did not have it, and were therefore mortal.

The worst part was, looking at him still standing there, she was certain he hadn't even gotten to the part he thought she wouldn't like.

“I worked for the Evanuris for four thousand years before Mythal and I planned to dismantle the corporation. There was a time when Arlathan was more than a mere city state. The might of the elves covered every inch of this world. When the dwarves came up from the deep, we welcomed them and, in time, compromised between the surface and the Stone. When humans came, we shared the bounty of this land. At first it was in peace. And then it was not. There have been bitter conquests on both sides. Now Thedas is a myriad of nations, and we are but one of them. The Evanuris want the land back. They want control back. They will stop at nothing to get it, no matter how long it takes. They are patient.”

“The Dales...” she started, but couldn't finish.

“Ah, yes. Only the most recent loss by our kind to humans. The name from which your mother's people take their own. I have never asked...how do the Dalish remember their expulsion from Arlathan?”

“As that,” she replied, still stupefied. “The Dalish were cast out, stricken from the archives, left to wander the earth homeless and rootless.”

“It was not what was intended.” He paused, gathering himself for what he was going to say next. “I helped them leave.”

“You...?”

“When the Dales were lost to the Orlesians, the Evanuris proposed to absorb the refugees into Arlathan, but not as citizens. They offered instead to let them barter their own lives. You must understand, I had known no other way of life but Arlathan. For centuries. Millennia. I could not see the bonds as the atrocity they are. Not until that moment, as I watched free elves of the Dales bend their necks to the yoke of the Evanuris to spare their own children's deaths. It...haunted me. I felt compelled to act.”

Esha had been born of both cultures, had grown up with a mishmash of history as seen from both sides. But a single thread ran through that history, one that she had even known was there although she'd never before put it into its proper perspective. A legend, a curse. A savior, a fool. A parable and a warning. He had led them from the point of a sword into freedom, albeit in poverty. The clans formed and wandered, making the best lives they could, cut off from their language, their homeland, their own past. But they were _free,_ and none complained _._

“The Dread Wolf guided them,” she said, any attempt to deny it to herself disintegrating as understanding came. “It was you... _you_ are the Dread Wolf. In actuality, not just some silly, _stupid_ nickname given to you by those who saw you as nothing more than _Mythal's pet_!”

She only realized she was shouting when she heard the door open at the other end of the base. Felassan was there, she abruptly remembered. She stared at Solas – at _Fen'Harel,_ the villain of her father's tales and hero of her mother's – and tried to calm down.

It didn't work.

She shot out of her chair and stormed into his face. He did nothing to stop her from yelling at him. “Next you'll tell me you have all the same powers that they do, that you always have, that you could kill every one of us pitiful mortals if you wanted to! That you have never once needed my help to keep yourself safe, that it was all some elaborate game to pass the time! Don't think I didn't notice that your network is more powerful than ASP's. That trace was a dead end outside of this room.”

“I have...some of the powers.” His gaze was plaintive, but he held it to hers unwavering. “I _did_ need your help.”

“Void take you and burn you to ash! You still hid things from me. _You_ _lied to me!_ ”

“Only by omission.”

“And that makes it all right?” she exclaimed. “Maybe I should be grilling you on how the whole immortal thing works since you're feeling suddenly forthcoming.”

“I will tell you if you would like to know.” He was calm while she ranted at him and that made it worse.

“You know what? I should have guessed it myself. Look at you. You haven't aged a day. I knew it was a thing, I guess I just never put it all into perspective.” She narrowed her eyes at him, sensing he wasn't quite finished. “What else?”

“I can stop the Evanuris, but it will destroy us.”

“How?” She crossed her arms and scowled.

Solas may have agreed to help Mythal bring down Evanuris Inc., but _why_ had she asked him to in the first place? Was it because he was already doing it on his own? Had she seen the way the world had changed, or was there a deeper game in it than that? Had she truly wanted to end the reign of her own peers or was it simply a way to control him, and control the fallout of a potential coup?

Trickster, liar. Rebel. What part of it was a cover? What part was his innate nature as a spirit-born? Could she even risk believing him?

“How?” Esha asked again.

“I can consign them to the Void, but it will take more power than I currently have. And I will need a way to keep them there. A barrier that would encompass the whole world.”

“Why would it encompass the whole world?”

“Because the Fade as a reflection is limitless, and their power within it would be too.”

“And there's no other way to defeat them?”

“They are immortal, nearly invulnerable. No prison would hold them, nor death keep them as long as they can regenerate.”

“And how would such a barrier destroy us?”

“We would be cut off from the Fade. We would lose our magic, our essence. The free spirits would be trapped, either in corporeal form they did not choose, or on the other side.”

“And the Elvhen would become mortal like the rest of us, I'm guessing,” she sneered, nearly spitting with sarcasm.

He advanced on her for the first time since she'd jumped at him. His face was twisted, in anger, frustration, sorrow. It jolted her from her ire and all she could do was stare at him, dumbfounded. “Like the rest of _them_ , Eshali'nan. You are half Elvhen. The House of Dawn traces its lineage to Elgar'nan himself. You share his gift of immortality. The longer you live in Arlathan, the more you will connect with it.”

“How do you know that?” She couldn't believe it. She didn't _want_ to believe it.

“I've always known it!” he cried. “The only thing I could never discern was why you did not.”

“No...”

“Yes, Esha. Yes. Why do you think Abelas picked you to guard me a decade ago? He knew!”

“Abelas is...?”

“Of course he is. He is the founder of the Sentinel order!”

“How could I not know this?!” she wailed.

“Because you were taken from Arlathan when you were but seven years old.”

“That's why my mother left, isn't it?” she whispered, the realization hitting her. “She must have learned it, or my father told her. She has always hated that I went back and became a Sentinel. Why didn't she tell me?”

“I'm sorry.”

She shoved at him, needing a release for her anger and sudden grief. “Why didn't _you_ tell me? You seem to know everything else about me!”

“What would you have had me say? That I was the mythological being that led your mother's people to freedom and condemned those that would not follow to oblivion?!”

It didn't matter that he was right, that she would have scoffed and disregarded it when they met. “Harellan,” she hissed. “Why should I trust you?”

He stepped away from her as if she'd struck him. His face grew shuttered, his brow furrowed and eyes closed. He didn't speak.

Her tears fell, helpless and burning down her cheeks. The silence hung in the air, the strain in it pulled so tight anything would snap it. Her phone pinged with an incoming message. Woodenly, she reached for it and swiped it open.

It was from Bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Fluff-uary coming, several other WIP's to wrap up and life in general being what it is, this will be going on hiatus for a while. Yes, I know, we're leaving you on a cliffhanger. I have never left a fic unfinished, and I don't plan to have this one be either. It just needs to take a backseat to real life for a while, until Angel and I don't feel like we've bitten off more than we can chew anymore.
> 
> Feedback is, as ever, the lifeblood. We'll be around and all comments will be answered still. Cheers!


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